


Guest of Honor

by PinstripesAndConverse



Category: City of Love: Paris (Ubisoft) - Fandom, City of Love: Paris (Visual Novel)
Genre: Because he wants to make the MC's birthday special, F/M, In which Vincent is petty, and very very extra, just a little bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2018-12-30 20:07:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12116271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinstripesAndConverse/pseuds/PinstripesAndConverse
Summary: Vincent Karm throws the MC a birthday party, despite her protests for a small gathering instead.  He may have also invited her ex-fiance as a guest of honor to show off, just a little.  Inspired by a tumblr post by s0mmertraum: "Vincent would throw the biggest party for the MC on her birthday. Everything would be extra extra! #and he would invite Raphael as an honor guest #just so he could show off his greatness up close to him".





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> MC is 30, Vincent is 42/43 in this. And the end of this chapter is open to interpretation on how their evening goes.

She was curled up on her couch with Esteban and the cat, eyes glued to the book in front of her, when Vincent came out of the kitchen, offering a steaming mug of tea.  She took it without tearing her gaze away from the page, murmuring, "thank you," and taking a careful sip.     
  
"Your birthday is next month, yes?" He asked, taking the armchair he usually did when he was over, Esteban hopping down from the couch to settle in with his owner.  "Was there something you wanted to do?  Thirty is a fairly important milestone."   
  
The words she was reading became a garbled mess as she lost her focus, realizing she had been too busy to even care about her birthday.  It wasn't something she often cared about to begin with, especially as she got older and life got busier.  The fact that she was turning thirty didn't faze her; the fact that her very-rich-very-over-the-top boyfriend of several months was asking her about it  _ did _ .   
  
"Not particularly."  She flagged the page she was on and put the book in her lap.  "If anything, dinner with a group of friends, or something that’s just us.”

She watched him as he read an email on his phone.  He was not a person she ever wanted to play cards with, his face stoic and focused, but she knew he was far from pleased at her reaction; in fact, he seemed quite bored.  He locked his phone and placed it in his pocket, looking at her as he leaned back into the chair.

“I already started planning a party.”

She gave him a pointed look that barely had any edge in it, getting up to sit on the arm of the chair and brush a piece of hair from his face.  Her hand fell back into her lap once the piece stayed in place.  “I don't need fancy parties, Vincent. Just you.”

“And if I say that I want to throw one because you mean a great deal to me?”  He took her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing her knuckles softly before lifting his gaze to meet hers.

_ I have a hard time saying ‘no’ when you look at me like that,  _ she thought.  _ Then again, you're infatigable when it comes to people saying no to your offers. _

“When you phrase it that way, how can I refuse?”  She murmured.

“I only need a list of those you'd like to invite.”

“It's very short.”

“Then I'll supplement it.  I keep a list of people for occasions for that exact reason.”

“I'll give it to you in the morning?”

He hummed approval, her knuckles receiving more kisses while he held eye contact; she looked away first, the intensity behind his gaze far too strong for her tired eyes.  He let go of her hand but she couldn't bring herself to move from the arm of the chair immediately, choosing to run her fingers through his hair at the base of his skull.  

“If you keep doing that, you’ll never get to finish that book tonight,” he warned, unconsciously leaning into the gesture, his one weakness.

“It’s not as if the book is going anywhere,” she retorted, slipping off of the arm of the chair and into his lap, never stopping the hand in his hair.  “It can wait another night.”

It was a familiar position, one she had taken once before, on a park bench minutes after waking up from a shock-induced fainting spell.  Although they had kissed prior to that moment, he had still been left stunned by her brazen actions; she had a feeling he secretly liked it when someone fought him for control once in awhile.  

His hands fell to the small of her back as her nose brushed his, lips almost touching until he pulled her to him, closing the distance between them.  Her other hand fell to trace nonsense patterns along his neck, dipping below his shirt collar to graze the curve of his neck.  Vincent gave a low groan, somewhere between pleased and annoyed; she had little doubt it was because she so quickly turned the tables on him.  His fingers ran feather-light across the bare skin between her shirt and the lounge pants she was wearing, causing her to instinctively arch towards him more.  

_ Fair _ , she supposed.

He broke their kiss, dipping his head to kiss below her earlobe, and down her neck to her exposed collarbone.  His hands stopping teasing her and fell to her thighs.  “Ma cherie, you sounded quite dedicated to finishing it earlier.”

“Like I said,” she inhaled sharply as he found the spot where her collarbone met her shoulder, a light kiss causing a shiver down her spine.  “It’s not going anywhere.”

  
Vincent pulled back from her collarbone to capture her lips with his again, his hold on her legs firm as he rose from the chair.  She crossed her legs behind him and adjusted her arm as he carried her down the hall to the bedroom, her book forgotten for the rest of the night.   



	2. Chapter 2

Vincent looked over the hand-written guest list, complete with contact information.  He found it odd she chose to add her parents at the end of the list, almost like an afterthought, rather than at the top.  They were getting along, as far as he knew; she Skyped them once a week, and he was even included in a call when her parents politely insisted on it.  They were kind enough, although he was sure they still had reservations about her dating the man she previously helped send to jail, a man thirteen years older than her. 

Perhaps she was concerned for their traveling costs, not necessarily their judgments.

He would rectify that; she had specified she wanted them to meet before the party, should they decide to come.  As for cost, it was hardly an issue; his reinstatement as CEO meant he had a good deal of reputable clout and his income back, at least so far.  Booking a plane and hotel was nothing.   
  
She grudgingly gave him her list of people that morning; most of her friends that he knew made up the guest list, save some coworkers and her parents.  She asked once more for him to reconsider and do something smaller, but he implored her to let him do it. Yet again, she relented.  He had a feeling she simply wasn't used to anyone going to such lengths to show how much they cared.

  
She was asking for simplicity, a word he knew and always shoved aside when it came to things like this.  No party of his was ever praised for its "simplicity".   
  
There was one person not on the guest list, which shouldn't have surprised him, all things considered.  He smirked and added "Raphael Laurent-will be handled personally" to the bottom of the list before giving it to Eugene with a copy of a drafted invitation to take care of the rest.  His journalist and the servant had become fast friends, he thought it only polite to have him, of all people, help.

This party wouldn't be simple.  It would be expensive, extravagant, and ostentatious, because that was all he knew.  Birthdays celebrated the presence of a special person, and hers was no different.  Especially to him.  She deserved a party that celebrated her, who she had become over the course of her lifetime, and who she was now.  Everything she had done for him.  She meant the world to him, and everything tasted far sweeter with her in his life.  

Eugene waited for his boss to signal he could go before leaving Vincent alone with his thoughts.

Perhaps it was petty of him to invite Raphael, but he didn't care.  He deserved to see how she should be treated, how she  _ would  _ be treated.  Appreciated, respected, cared about...loved.  

He was still afraid of that word.  Everyone who had meant something to him was either dead or drifted away from him; Esteban was the only one he even uttered the phrase to, and even then, that was rare.

He inhaled sharply at the realization he had been denying for months, waiting for the feelings to subside.  They hadn’t.  The two years he spent in jail did nothing to clear his head about the fiery American; why would a few months make a difference?

Something had changed between them, at some point, before they decided to see where this arrangement took them.  He didn't know when, precisely; was it the night she returned to Paris, tear-stricken in front of his cell, or the night she called him to catch Marion?  Or was it the night they found the essence, when she straightened his tie and looked at him like he was the only person that mattered in her world?  

He was in love with her.  While that terrified him, it was also the most exhilarating feeling he had ever known.  No one managed to make him feel the way he did every time he laid eyes on her.  He would lay the world at her feet, if asked it of him.    


He admired her spirit, her enthusiasm, the way she hid her mouth when she laughed too hard, and how she tied her hair up and then glued her eyes to her work when she was focused on her writing, one hand petting the cat absently as it dozed in her lap.  

She was rare; that he liked her to begin with was rare in and of itself, but her personality, her fire...honesty, frankness...her love pure,  _ sincere _ .  

Vincent’s hands went to his tie, straightening the fabric and tightening the knot a bit too tight.

Well, he’d have to certainly do something about  _ that _ .


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see this piece (https://vincentxmc.tumblr.com/post/165230617869/look-at-this-beautiful-fanart-katikut-drew-of-the) by the lovely Katikut (http://katikut.tumblr.com/), who drew the MC in a dress designed by LittleRahel (https://littlerahel.tumblr.com/post/164784060234/and-here-finally-we-have-mcs-dress-design-full) on Tumblr.

She had no idea where she was heading, honestly.  She finished her article and submitted it for editing a few hours ago and wanted a break before she did some editing for a coworker.  She left her flat and realized she hadn't explored her new neighborhood, the very area she lived in still unknown to her.  

She started walking and didn’t stop, the unfamiliar path bringing her past cute boutiques and restaurants.  It was crowded, but then again, it was lunch time.

Her parents were flying in a few days before the party; they were looking forward to meeting Vincent in person, happier more than she expected them to be.  They were lukewarm at best when they first met Raphael (before being righteous and upset she broke off the engagement on her last trip home).  She half-wondered if they were professionally curious about the man their daughter helped arrest or if they actually wanted to meet Vincent for who he was in her life  _ now _ .  She loved her parents; it was they who helped her decide to be a journalist and focus on giving people the truth.  It was just...sometimes they were incredibly hard to read.  She supposed it was a side effect of their careers; her mother also a journalist, her father a professor.  

She wandered the boulevard, a warm beverage in hand as she perused windows, stopping whenever her eye fell on something.  

A soft, light blue gown, the color of the aura of freshly fallen snow in the sun, caught her eye in the window of a larger store.  The sleeves were off the shoulder and made of chiffon, the satin bodice bearing a faint floral pattern in pink, so faint she missed it on first glance until her nose was almost pressed to the glass.  The mermaid style skirt continued the pattern from the bodice, the fabric ending above the mannequin’s knees and changing to chiffon again.  An angled slit in the sheer fabric on the right side slowly rippled over towards the left, like a waterfall, creating an asymmetrical line for the bottom half of the dress.  It was paired with a set of pink heels with ribbon ties criss crossing on the calf.

It was beautiful.  

She threw out her drink and entered the store, eyes seeking an employee to inquire about trying it on.  She felt a bit out of place as she waited for the younger woman to carefully remove the dress from the display; there was a silent glance from the employee over her figure, as if questioning if the dress would even  _ fit  _ her or if she could afford it.  The sweater she was wearing was misleading, hiding most of her figure; being conventionally attractive helped in her profession, certainly, but it also led to moments like this, people drawing conclusions about her body.  

The price...she could swing it.  It was steep for her, and she’d probably have to cut back elsewhere for a little while to make up for the gap in her savings, but she could do it.  

She waited patiently as a dressing room was readied, the girl waiting on her to help zip up the back of the dress.  The American enjoyed the look of slight embarrassment on the employee’s face for a moment as they both realized the dress fit perfectly, as if it had been made for her.  Her eyes went wide as she took in the dress as a whole, the satin and chiffon soft against her skin, movement easy, and she could sit with modesty intact (she hated nothing more than realizing a skirt barely covered anything at all, and was hardly worth the trouble of wearing).    

She inquired about the shoes; also in her size.  She raised an eyebrow after the young woman went to fetch them but the size was fairly average and she quickly brushed off the thought as anything other than a mere coincidence.  

As she walked in the shoes, watching how the fabric rippled, the price came to her head again.

This dress was worth several months’ rent.  It was beautiful, a work of art, something that made TJ’s sketch of her years ago seem boring and drab, and it was something Vincent would buy without batting an eye.  

He  _ would  _ be impressed by it, she knew.  The look on his face would be priceless, his green eyes wide in awe, his mouth open ever so slightly at the sight of her.

The same expression she saw on his face when he realized how little she knew about Kat’s dark dealings, deep below the streets of Paris.  She  _ did  _ enjoy those moments when she took him by surprising, removing the mischievous smirk from his lips and replacing the glimmer in his eye with a look of almost-innocence.  He was a man of the world who knew more than she could imagine and yet  _ she,  _ an American investigative journalist, managed to take him off-guard.

She’d worry about her wallet later.

“I’ll take both.”  She declared to the other woman, who nodded acknowledgement of her wishes.

The zipper was undone for her and she passed the dress to the employee after slipping her clothes back on in order for the garment to be hung and wrapped for her to take home.  

Her stomach knotted as she signed her receipt, her mind rationalizing that she was still financially fine, that the occasion  _ warranted  _ a splurge like this.  She hadn’t done anything for herself in months, other than necessities for the apartment.  She worked hard.  She deserved it and it felt nice to do something for herself.  

If Vincent was leaving the entire party to be a surprise other than her knowing about it, then she could have a surprise of her own for him.

She walked home with the garment bag over her shoulder and shoebox tucked under her arm, her adventure quite successful.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raphael's POV

Raphael’s mouth went dry as he looked at the envelope on his desk again, waiting for him like all of the other afternoon mail.  It was hard to miss.  Thick, handmade, paper, wax seal, impeccable, flowing calligraphy for the address.  

_ Familiar  _ calligraphy.  Very familiar.

Which was why it sat staring back at him, unopened.

What could possibly warrant something like  _ this  _ showing up on his desk?  From  _ him _ ?  Raphael gritted his teeth and had a half a mind to toss it into the junk mail pile.

Louise glanced at it earlier when they were discussing the next day’s agenda for what needed to be done, clearly recognizing the handwriting as well.  Yet she wasn’t as angry about it as he currently was, nor had she explained it.

The last time Vincent sent an envelope to him, it was a death threat.  

He was on amicable,  _ professional _ terms with her; she wrote the exclusive on the Parisian flood, explaining in detail the history of the Knights, much to de Valois’ annoyance.

_ He won the election anyway, mostly  _ thanks  _ to her writing.   _

Raphael knew his boundaries, regardless of his history with the journalist.  She made her choice, and despite his annoyance and jealousy, he knew she wasn’t  _ the one _ .  He discovered that during their brief engagement; they fought too much, communication broke down.  She was a talented writer, a brilliant journalist, but it was  _ her fault _ for wanting to build her career further, get out of Paris.  Find her voice without making it fit into City of Love’s narrow market.

He could have offered her so much.  And yet, she made the choice she did.

The way she looked at Vincent when she thought no one was looking…

She never looked at him that way.  She manipulated him, and lied to him. 

_ Those two were just  _ made _ for each other _ , he thought bitterly, realizing how both of them were able to spin conversations, situations,  _ anything at all _ , to their advantage.

It hurt.  She was happy and deep down, he knew that mattered far more than the jealous stab he felt in his heart every time he saw her.  But that didn't take away the pain.  

So why in seven hells was this thing sitting on his desk?  

Raphael sighed in aggravation and grabbed it, leaning back in his computer chair and turning his back to the door as he broke the wax seal.

The envelope contained two things, well...four, if he included the pre-addressed RSVP envelope and it's card, asking for dinner preference and number of guests.  He was so caught up in his racing thoughts that he missed the final piece, a letter, flutter into his lap as he looked at the sleek and classical invitation.

_ Oh dear lord, no!  Mon deiu, tell me… _

He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding as he read the invitation.  Birthday.  He breathed deep and sighed as he realized the card was for a birthday party, and not a  _ wedding _ .  

Oh, yes, right...she was turning 30 this year.  How could he forget?

Raphael read the invitation, the phrasing traditionally requesting his presence.  His eyes went wide in shock at seeing the venue, one of the nicest (and priciest!) in Paris, with a rooftop terrace, and the required attire. 

Why was this being thrown in his face?!  He was doing everything he could to grow his company, focus on work,  _ forget she ever broke his heart _ , and here it was, being shredded again by the knowledge her  _ birthday meant something to someone else _ .  To a friend turned rival, a man who stopped at nothing to get what he wanted.  Vincent Karm cared for no one, as far as he was concerned.  For him to do such a gesture of extravagance...Raphael’s stomach churned in anger, his heart breaking that another man, that  _ Vincent bloody Karm _ , would go to such lengths for her…

Raphael sneered at the thought of Vincent having emotions.  The man had a heart of ice, if he even had a heart at all.  That part of him died with Paul.

_ Who wears white tie to such a thing?!  _ He thought incredulously, before amending,  _ Ah, well, Vincent would.  The man doesn't own anything other than three piece suits. _

He sighed heavily, examined the RSVP, and then caught sight of the piece of paper that had fallen onto his leg.  Thick, handmade paper, not unlike the kind the envelope was made of.  He placed the invitation on his desk and picked up the letter, unfolding it with trembling hands.  The handwriting was similar to the address on the envelope, done with a different pen, but it was, without a doubt, Vincent’s handwriting.

_ I can only imagine the look on your face as you see this, Mr. Laurent. You're under no obligation to even attend, and quite frankly, I don't anticipate you doing so.  Just thought I would let you see what you’ll be missing. _

_ Should you show up, a ground rule: control that unruly temper of yours. _

_ -VK _

Raphael let out a frustrated grunt, glaring at the piece of paper.  

He did  _ not  _ have a temper.  

Annoyed, he turned back to his desk and grabbed a pen, filling out the RSVP card and sealing its envelope.  He called his assistant in, and held out the tiny envelope, instructing her to have it delivered to the address of Karm International.  He watched her peer down at it, read the name, and mutter a “yes, of course” before darting out of the office.  

_ Unruly temper?   _ Raphael thought.   _ Two can play that game, Karm.  You love flaunting things, so what happens when someone is  _ bored  _ by all of that… _


	5. Chapter 5

She double and triple-checked her make-up bag, her  _ actual  _ overnight bag with two nights worth of clothes, that her dress and shoes were by the door, and that the cat had enough food and water in her absence.  

Her nerves were getting the best of her.  If she didn’t stop pacing, she would wear a hole in the old floorboards.

Truth be told, she had been looking forward to the party.  Not only because it was her first true evening affair beside Vincent, but because it was also the first big event since the saving of Paris.  Most of the arrangements, even the location of the party, were kept from her, but Eugene had been kind enough to show her the finalized guest list and seating arrangement.

And if she made it through the evening without fainting by just  _ seeing  _ some of the people on the list, it would be a miracle.  

Her friends, even Louise, surprisingly, had RSVP’d and were scattered about the room; Eugene mentioned something about not wanting personalities clashing, knowing not all of them got along well.  Tristan did tend to flirt with any woman he laid his eyes on, after all.

She was looking forward to seeing all of them, spending a little time with her parents, of course.  

But most importantly, this was Vincent in his element.  An element she had caught the slightest glimpse of at Orsay close to three years ago, where he made talking about paintings an art in itself.  It was Vincent’s first public event since returning to his position as CEO of his company; she had a level of expectation for some kind of press, nothing she couldn’t handle since she  _ was a part of the press,  _ if she wanted to get technical about it.

He apparently needed her help with something  _ for  _ the party but hadn’t specified precisely what it was.  Vague and cryptic, as always.

Her cat mewed softly as he tangled himself around her feet as she stood, staring at the garment bag hanging by the door.  She shook her head and decided it might be best to just...sit for now.  And stop fretting.

The cat jumped into her lap, kneading its paws on her before curling up, purring softly.

They had lunch with her parents a few hours ago; it was brief, Vincent extending his stay as long as he could before he had to meet with his senior staff for current project timelines.  It went far better than she expected it to.  There was no hanging air of expectation from her parents, no curious prodding about how serious they were about their arrangement.  She wondered if it was due to the aura she and Vincent projected when they were together, their personalities complementing one another in the most natural way.  

Power couple indeed.

She was so lost in thought that she barely heard the knock on her door.

“Miss (f/n)?”  

“One moment, Eugene,” she called, moving the cat from her lap and rising to go to the door.

She unlocked the door, stepping aside for the tall, thin, valet to come in, her cat watching him curiously.  

“Do you have everything, or do you need a moment?” He glanced around, seeing her bags by the door.  “I’m a tad early, I’m afraid.”

She said she was ready and despite her internal protesting, allowed Eugene to carry her things down to the car for her, talking the entire way down the stairwell.  She settled in and let her mind wander as the car wove through the streets of Paris, the cabin blocking out the sounds of the city around her.  

* * *

 

When they arrived, it was not Eugene who opened her door, but Vincent, much to her surprise.  She took his hand as she stepped out of the car, her neck craning to peer up at the tall building in which he lived.  He often stayed with her; this was a first for her to be staying with him.  It made the arrangements for the party much easier as well.

She felt lips against her knuckles, her eyes meeting an amused expression as she brought her attention back to the man in front of her.  

“The view is much better inside,” he teased, leading her inside and into an elevator.

They walked through the large, imposing doors of the penthouse, the sound of small paws echoing through the large space as Esteban came to greet her.  He snorted happily, overly excited to see her as she scratched behind his ears and around his collar; he responded in kind with a few licks to her fingers.

She continued to pet Esteban as she look around, taking in the dark wood and high ceilings of the space, the far wall comprised entirely of tall windows with a view of the Eiffel Tower and Arc de Triomphe.  His personal taste was composed of a mix of traditional and modern pieces, much like his art collection.  The furniture in this space was modern, sleek; it would seem cold and uninviting if not for the dark wood floors or occasional splash of a warm neutral color, if not for the emotional touches throughout the space.  A staircase to her left led up to a lofted balcony over the living space, filled with bookshelves and more art.   

She picked up Esteban, the pug settling into her arms quite easily, snorting softly again.  A few photos were scattered about, mixed with pieces of his personal collection, she noticed.  As she walked through the space, she caught sight of a photo of Eugene holding Esteban, looking rather proud, the pug dressed in a banana costume.  Another of a younger Vincent with another man around the same age.  Some she assumed were his family.  Things only those closest to him saw, the human side of the persona he portrayed.

She heard Eugene speaking softly for a moment before the valet carried her bags down a hallway, to what she assumed was her room for the next few nights.  She looked back at Vincent, finding him on the edge of the wide sitting room, the ghost of a smile on his face.  He had been watching her, she realized, as she explored the space.  

“What?” She asked, a small grin breaking out across her lips as they stood there, Esteban in her arms.

“Nothing, my dear.”  He replied.

“I see the wheels turning in your head.”  She teased, Esteban resting his head down on her forearm and watching him, as if pushing for him to respond.

“I was...admiring the view.”  He smirked as she narrowed her eyes at his vagueness, not liking his lack of clarification.

She was not going to get an answer beyond that, she knew too well.   _ Best to let him have some thoughts to himself... _

“You mentioned needing help with something?”  She changed the subject, crossing the room, her eyes falling on the kitchen as she passed by, Eugene’s head in the fridge.  Esteban squirmed in her arms and she knelt to put him down, the dog dashing off to sit near his water dish, waiting for his food.

She turned her attention back to Vincent.  

“Follow me,” his smirk was replaced by a devilish grin as he led her down the hall towards the other living spaces.

She followed him to a set of double doors, which she could only assume was possibly his bedroom.  She felt her heartbeat speed up at the knowledge that this was his home, his space, and she didn’t know what he apparently needed her help with.  The possibility of a bedroom didn’t scare her; he had been in hers before on several occasions for a multitude of reasons.  She was hardly opposed to anything that could— _ would _ , she corrected, even if it wasn’t right now—happen behind those doors.  

It was just...unexpected.

He told her to close her eyes and she obliged, his fingertips grazing hers as she let him lead her into the room.  She was certain he could feel her nerves, feel her pulse quickening beneath her skin.

“Vincent, what are you doing?”  She asked, skepticism hiding her nerves, or so she hoped.

He chuckled darkly, the deep sound she enjoyed so much.  “Taking you to my pleasure room.”  They stopped walking and she heard the click of a lightswitch.  “Open your eyes.”

The first thing she saw was his devious grin; he was certainly enjoying her nervousness.  He was probably laughing at her but was too polite to do to her face.

_ This was not what I was expecting _ , she thought as she turned around, quite confused by her surroundings.

“Vincent…” She began, not quite how to address what she was seeing.  “This is your closet.”

“Yes.  My suits give many people pleasure, wouldn’t you agree?” Vincent replied, clearly loving his innocent misdirection.  

“Of course.”   _ Not as much as your ties do though _ , she thought, her hand falling to her wrist unconsciously.  “But what could you possibly need my help with in here?”

She took in rack upon rack of shirts, waistcoats, pants, jackets, and Italian leather shoes.  It looked less like a closet and more like a tailor’s shop, with the range of fabrics and colors.  

“Well, (f/n),”  he stated, walking behind her and brushing a strand of hair away from her neck.  He wrapped his arms around her and laid three kisses where he could feel her pulse beating beneath her skin.  “You informed me that you have a dress for tomorrow night, which you’ve  _ insisted _ remains a secret.  Rightfully so,” he kissed her neck again, “I love a good surprise, especially from you.  This is where you come in.”

As if sensing her confusion, Vincent removed his arms from her waist to open two drawers in front of her, revealing ties in every shade imaginable.  

“I’ll be with Esteban putting final touches on things so I don’t spoil the surprise.”  He placed a final kiss right below her ear before leaving.

She heard the bedroom doors close as she stared at the assortment of colors, the ties arranged by hue.  

_ He’s actually letting someone other than himself pick out his tie? _  She mused, slightly baffled at the trust he was giving her.  

Her eyes fell on a pale blue tie, the color matching her dress so perfectly she would have sworn they were made together, at least by the same designer.  She pulled out the tie, running her fingers over the soft, creamy silk before placing it on the dressing table above the drawers, the glass top revealing dozens of pairs of cufflinks and watches, an errant ring or two.  

She closed the doors and left his bedroom, joining Vincent for an evening glass of wine and conversation, Esteban in her lap as they both gazed out at the lights of Paris.


	6. Chapter 6

The following night, Vincent did the final button on his waistcoat, smoothing the fabric so it fell properly.

He was almost done with the light blue tie when he heard a knock at his bedroom door. His eyes fell onto the open vanity drawer, housing a velvet box that was out of place among his tie clips and cufflinks, before softly closing it. He wanted to give her her gift prior to the party and have a quiet moment together before the night got too busy. Large parties were daunting for her, he knew, but he took comfort in knowing she would have conversation partners if he needed to step away during the night.

“Come in,” he said, the door opening a moment later, his eyes falling back onto the mirror as he finished his tie, not letting himself see her yet.

She was standing behind him, his own reflection hiding most of hers. The suspense of her dress was killing him but he could wait; instead, his eyes were drawn to Esteban, who had snuck into the room behind her. The dog hopped onto the tufted leather bench at the foot of his bed and onto the neatly made covers, finding his favorite spot at the seam of the pillows to settle into.

“You have your own bed, Princeling.” Vincent commented, watching the dog in the mirror as he slipped on his suit jacket and then adjusted his cuff links. “Must you?”

He heard a soft whine in response, the pug placing his head down on his paws in finality. The journalist giggled softly, a joyous sound he would never tire of hearing. Her own relationship with her cat was quite similar to what he had with Esteban.

His breath caught as he turned to look at her, taking in her appearance. The blue dress was certainly  _her_ in every way; elegant but flirtatious, tasteful but daring. He could see the faint pink floral pattern dancing across the fabric at just the right light, a much softer pink than her shoes. One of his hands was still on his cuff slightly longer than necessary as his eyes lingered over her body in a way that was appreciative but of her dress and choice, not her physicality. At least, not right now.

He knew his eyes were a bit too wide. She had, as she always did, stunned him into momentary silence.

He dropped his cuff after fixing it a final time and walking to her, closing the small distance between them. Vincent’s fingers ghosted over hers as he brought her hand to his lips, a warm smile on his face.

“You look stunning, not that I would expect nothing less.”

“Not too shabby yourself,” she replied, her usual smile crossing her lips, which were also pink, matching the accent color.

Well, at least his gift would match her dress color.

“What did you want to see me about? Is there anyone I’m meant to address with a title or something?”

“No, nothing quite so...serious.” He had yet to let go of her hand, his thumb brushing her knuckles a little longer than necessary. “I do have a favor to ask of you.”

“Oh?”

“Close your eyes. And don’t open them.”

He hesitantly let go of her hand to retrieve the velvet box he had been eyeing earlier, glancing over his shoulder to find her lips quirking into a smile, her eyes tightly closed. He opened the box silently, pulling the necklace from its resting place and gently carrying it over to where she standing, quietly stepping behind her. She jumped as the cold metal touched her skin but she didn’t open her eyes until he clasped it around her neck, the piece falling exactly how he imagined it would on her.

The necklace was white gold, filigree swirls housing diamonds that glittered in the soft light of the bedroom and a teardrop aquamarine sitting at her collarbone. He had hunted for something that was  _her,_ something she could use for more formal occasions without being ostentatious.

He kissed her neck and she opened her eyes; this time it was her turn to be surprised and taken aback, her mouth open as she brought a hand to the necklace, as if she couldn’t believe it was on her neck.

It was an expression he only hoped he could continue to see on her face, one that brought him a joy he was never able to quite convey into words.

“It...it’s beautiful, Vincent.” She marvelled at the piece, her fingers tracing the filigree before her eyes locked with his in the vanity mirror. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, (f/n).” He whispered, kissing the spot right below her ear lobe. “And I promise I had no idea it would match.”

“Oh, so you didn’t have Eugene spy on me? Or anyone else?” She teased, turning around to face him.

His eyes grew wide again and he raised his eyebrows. “My dear, I would never—”

“I’m just kidding.” She smiled, wider this time, eagerness and energy in her eyes, enthusiasm for everything around her. Her hands fell to his chest, one hand absentmindedly brushing away lint he knew wasn’t there.

“I was looking for something with more...meaning when I saw this,” his fingers traced her collarbone until they found the pendant, tracing the teardrop for a moment. “Aquamarine is associated with protection and fearlessness. Some say ancient Romans exchanged jewelry of the stone to keep their relationships focused on true love.”

He removed his hand from the necklace, instead taking the hand closest to his heart and pressing it to his chest softly, interlacing their fingers. Her eyes held a silent question, one he knew, one he had an answer to, but one he wasn’t quite ready to answer. Not yet.

_There are so many things I need to say to you_ , he thought.  _But now isn’t the time._

“We should go. I can’t be late to my own party.” She whispered softly.

“You’re the guest of honor, my dear. For you, there’s no such thing as late.” Vincent kissed her forehead softly, catching the scent of orange blossoms.

But she had a point.

They had a party to go to.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for taking forever to finish this one, I got sidetracked with other stories. But I wanted to make sure I saw this through! So here's the final chapter!

The first person to wish her a happy birthday first was not anyone she expected it to be. They had barely made it out of the elevator up to the the dining area when small arms wrapped around her legs. She looked down to find Luc, Louise’s son, hugging her.

“Happy birthday, (f/n)!”

She fixed his hair gently as she thanked him and sent him back to his mother.  _That_ was certainly a surprise; given the dress code and venue, she wasn’t expecting children to be allowed here. He barely tolerated anyone under the age of twenty-five, let alone a seven year old.

She couldn’t help but wonder what other surprises he had in store for her tonight. First the necklace, and now Luc.

“Usually I scare children,” Vincent murmured, watching Luc run back into the ballroom.

“You’re forgetting who his mother is. He doesn’t scare easily.”

She wanted to ask but thought better of it, knowing now wasn’t the best time as they continued into the room. Every surface seemed to glitter or shine in some way and every part of the room seemed to have a perfect view of the city. Everything about the venue was beautiful and grand; she felt overwhelmed at the minute level of detail around her. Vincent had gone through the trouble of making sure everything would be as it was envisioned and spared no expense, she was sure.

Her parents were just as surprised as she was by the setting, their eyes roaming the space in awe. Her mother hugged her a little too tight and hastily wiped away tears when she saw her daughter’s dress. She wondered if she’d react similarly in another situation involving a dress and a reception if she was getting misty-eyed over  _this_.

After a few introductions, she made her way through the crowds to greet her friends, some of whom naturally gravitated towards each other. Many of the other guests were people she was only meeting for the first time that night. Leo had cleaned up nicely and was talking to TJ about poetry and the relationship literary movements had on fashion when she interrupted them. She found Louise sitting outside with Luc, helping him identify different buildings, her glass filled not with wine, but water.

The other woman had committed herself to making a change to her drinking habits. If not for herself, then for her son. Louise had told her that her party to catch Kat’s killer had been her wake-up call; the journalist could only be supportive in her endeavors, not that the older woman needed it.

Noor was being her mischievous self, her father stuck in conversation with some other politician she vaguely recognized.

Raphael was…

 _Raphael?! What’s he doing here?!_ She thought, her eyes growing wide as she realized her ex-fiance had walked into the room.

She felt a warm hand on her back and jumped, turning to find Vincent beside her. He, too, seemed to catch sight of Raphael but said nothing on the topic, and instead pressed a kiss to her temple. “I was wondering where you snuck off to.”

“Just to say hello,” she tilted her head slightly to return the gesture, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Everything is beautiful. Thank you.”

Just as she was about to ask about Raphael’s presence, everyone began taking their seats in preparation for dinner. Yet again, her question would have to wait.

The meal was just as delicious as she anticipated, if not more so. Everything kept amazing her, stunning her. She needed to work on her poker face if she was going to attend public events with him more often, she realized. But for now, she’d enjoy every second of this; she wouldn’t be able to thank Vincent enough for this, for every single small surprise that seemed to keep popping up.

She’d expected a certain level of elegance, perhaps even decadence, but no one had ever gone to such lengths to make her happy. She preferred simpler affairs but there were no words to describe how amazing it felt to have someone know her so well about what she would like and enjoy, like flavor combinations, or wine variations.

Every so often, she noticed Raphael looking at her, watching her, before looking away, barely hiding his disgust and annoyance. If he wasn’t happy, why was he even here? And every time she felt Raphael’s eyes on her, she noticed Vincent would draw her attention to something or kiss her or his hand would find hers. She should have expected no less from him, to throw everything in Raphael’s face. She was partially hurt; had he gone through all of this for her or in order to show off to her ex?

He once said to her that he didn’t play games with those he was fond of. She tried to keep that in mind but it didn’t help much.

She went right to the dance floor after the dishes were cleared away, grabbing Louise’s hands and pulling the editor-turned-security-expert with her. She was learning to finally loosen up, to be herself without the help of alcohol, and it was refreshing to see her friend genuinely smile.

After a few songs and sore feet, she left the dance floor and went outside to get some air, the music audible on the terrace. It was a warm night, thankfully, and she was glad to have a moment to herself.

Vincent joined her outside when the music slowed, offering his hand to her before he gently pulled her close. They were the only ones outside, the only barrier being the tall windows and the sliding glass doors, partially open to encourage people to step outside. They swayed gently to the music and the rest of the party felt as if it was thousands of miles away.

She rested her head on his shoulder and willed herself to simply enjoy the moment, rather than ask the questions burning in her mouth. Her tongue had a mind of its own and she mentally cursed as she found herself asking, “Why is Raphael here?”

“(f/n), why are you concerned over something so-”

“You invited him to strut around and dangle me in front of him, didn’t you?” She asked flatly, shifting to press her nose closer to his collar. Why did he have to smell so good?

“If you mean that I wanted him to see you happy, see what he decided to ruin for himself, then yes. I did.” She felt his breath tickle her ear, a breath she knew well from when he was thinking aloud. “That doesn’t make my gestures any less genuine, if that is your concern. Is it a crime to want to make you happy, to enjoy your smile and your laughter?”

She shook her head but, realizing he couldn’t see her face, she murmured, “No.” She felt her cheeks turning pink at his candidness.

“It’s an unintended consequence that he gets upset over seeing you happy and that I enjoy seeing him miserable. Your happiness comes first to me. Please don’t forget that, (f/n).” Vincent said, his words laced with a tenderness he only ever reserved for when they were truly alone.

The song changed but neither of them moved to pull away, their rhythm changing every so slightly. It took her a moment of feeling Vincent’s breath on her ear and the vibration of his chest for her to realize he was singing softly to her. He’d never done that before and she smiled softly at the sound. The song was in French and it took her a moment to translate the words.

If she was holding a glass, it would have fallen to the floor and shattered at the emotion in Vincent’s voice.

Her chest tightened and she willed herself to  _breathe_. Her stomach felt as if it was at her feet and her heart had taken on a rhythm of its own. Her eyes burned with the overwhelming realization of the meaning of the song.

“I love you, (f/n).”

She pulled away from Vincent slightly, but before she could properly pull her head up, there was a sound of broken glass and collective shrieks, Louise’s in particular.

The couple broke their hold and after a quick glance at the other, re-entered the room. It had gone deathly silent as everyone tried to understand what just happened. Raphael was sprawled out on the floor among glasses and utensils, his hand gripping a tablecloth he’d pulled down with him. Louise looked beyond furious as she held Luc to her, the little boy shaking with sobs. She could just make out muffled apologies as they got closer.

“I think it’s time you left, Laurent,” Vincent said, his words firm, final. No haughtiness, no sarcastic jabs. He didn’t need them.

The staff rushed over, security picking Raphael up and the waiters and waitresses picking up the mess of glass, wine, food, and silverware quickly and quietly.

Raphael struggled and spat angrily at the men holding him, but to no avail. He glared at her with such intensity that she swore he burned a hole right through her, and she moved closer to Vincent instinctively. She knew he’d been drinking but she hadn’t expected for him to…

The American looked at Louise again, the older woman consoling her son away from the cluster of guests.

She left Vincent’s side, her fingers lingering on his for a moment before she turned her attention entirely to Louise and Luc.

The happy child she’d seen hours ago was replaced with one of anger and embarrassment, of guilt and exhaustion. He hugged Louise tight, as if letting go of her would repeat the entire scene again.

“I was just reaching for something on the table,” the boy explained quietly, letting go of his mother long enough to give the journalist a hug. “He wasn’t watching where he was going, he bumped right into me. He sounded angry.”

She held the little boy close and looked up at Louise, who could only roll her eyes and murmur, “Vincent isn’t the only one who holds onto the past.”

Once she knew Luc was okay, she weaved through the groups of people back to Vincent. She politely excused them from the conversation he was finishing with security and took his hand in hers, lacing her fingers with his as she lead them back to the balcony. Back to peace and quiet and solitude. She’d caught a glimpse of his expression and he was as bewildered as she expected.

He was about to protest but she closed the distance between them before he could get a syllable out. She pulled away from the kiss slowly, her eyes meeting his again.

“I love you, too,” she said,

The words were incredibly easy to say. As if she’d been saying them since the beginning. They simply tumbled from her lips without thought; she didn’t need to think about it, as any doubt had eased from her mind a long time ago.

She watched Vincent’s eyes go wide, his jaw finally relaxing from the tension from only a few minutes ago. She found it so odd that he always looked so innocent whenever she took him by surprise, but knew he was anything but. He wasn’t disbelieving; if he doubted her words, she would be buried under flurries of snarky comments and questions. No, he  _believed_ her.

It was almost as if he couldn’t believe himself. Had he simply never expected…?

Her thoughts disappeared as he kissed her again, slowly, memorizing every second.

“That’s not how I wanted that to happen,” He whispered, his breath hit against her lips. “Certainly not how I pictured that in my head.”

She looked up at him, and brushed her lips against his cheek before melting into him as she had before the interruption. “That’s the best present anyone has ever given me,” she whispered.

It was then she realized  _why_ he’d planned the party to begin with. Why he’d gone to the lengths he had to make it extravagant and have everything just right. What he’d wanted to say hours ago but stopped himself just before he could. That was how he expressed it. In grand gestures and fine things, showing her what was hers, what  _could_  be hers, if she only asked for it. That everything he offered would be hers as long as she would have him.

She wasn’t sure how long they stayed outside. Probably far longer than they should have, considering it was her own party and Vincent was the host. Everything wound down as guests began to give in to their exhaustion and parted, and eventually the couple did the same.

* * *

She woke up slowly, processing that this was not, in fact, her bed.

Of course it wasn’t. She didn’t own sheets this soft nor a pillow this fluffy.

She shifted and looked at Vincent, still asleep. The magic of the party slowly wore away on the drive back as exhaustion overtook her. Her feet ached and her mouth was sore from smiling but when they were finally home, as she slid the dress off and hung it up, she realized she felt weightless, happy in a way she’d never known before. The haze of the wine was gone by then too, returning only when sunlight began to trickle into the room as a dull throb in her skull.

She’d take care of that later.

For now, she pulled the blanket back up to her chin, settled back down, and closed her eyes. Everything about the party would fade, as most things did, but his words from last night would linger in her mind and in her heart for a very, very long time.


End file.
